


Your Love Is My Drug

by smallerontheoutside (theinvisiblequestion)



Series: Playlist [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 08:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3403925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisiblequestion/pseuds/smallerontheoutside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's not an addict. She's not. Really.</p><p>(Inspired by Ke$ha's song of the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Love Is My Drug

It’s been a week since they arrived on location out in the sticks half a day’s drive from Clarke's house. She has been blessedly free of her mother’s matchmaking dinners, but it’s been a hell of a week. It’s almost too cold to film, and while there’s a big drash tent with a heater, it’s still miserable. She’s sharing a trailer with Raven, and while the trailer is comfortable enough, Clarke has spent the whole week in a bad mood.

“Clarke. Clarke!” Raven’s waving her hand in front of Clarke’s face. “Earth to space-case. Your phone’s going off again.”

Clarke looks at her phone on the table, jittering and flashing with text message after text message. She picks it up and puts it in the pocket of her sweatshirt without looking at the messages. They’re all from Bellamy anyway, and she may or may not have spent the week pretending to be sick and/or on her period as an excuse to not meet up with him.

Raven narrows her eyes. “Clarke, who’s texting you?”

“I don’t know. Probably my mom.”

Raven isn’t fooled that easily. “Probably not. Who’s texting you?”

Clarke’s hands are still in her pocket, and her fingers tighten around her phone. She stares at the table, and tries not to think about Bellamy: t-shirt and sweats Bellamy with wild hair and wilder eyes; boy band war paint Bellamy with black streaks on his face and hands; slightly greasy lunch-break Bellamy with a glass of ice and cold hands under her shirt—

“Clarke!”

“Nobody,” Clarke mutters. “It doesn’t matter.” She gets up to get a cup of coffee, and Raven gets up and goes to her bunk. She comes back with her phone in one hand, texting, but runs into Clarke when Clarke’s reaching up to get the sugar. Clarke loses her balance, but Raven keeps her from falling. Bad leg or no, nobody can say Raven’s not strong as an ox.

When Clarke sits back down with her coffee, Raven’s scrolling through her phone, reading. “Is this the guy from the bar?” she asks, holding up the phone in her hand. It’s not Raven’s phone at all, and when Clarke reaches in her pocket, the phone she pulls out is _Raven’s_.

Clarke glares at her roommate. “Did you—“

Raven smirks and shrugs. “Is it, though?”

“Give me my phone.”

Raven just shakes her head.

“ _Raven_.”

Raven gets up and backs toward the door, Clarke’s phone clutched to her chest. She grins widely as she opens the door—Clarke’s on her feet, too, ready for a chase—and whispers, “Nevermore.”

Raven bolts, and Clarke’s coffee sloshes onto the table as she leaves the trailer. Raven’s not all that fast with her bad leg, but she’s clever, she has a head start, and Clarke is barefoot. Still, it only takes a couple of minutes for Clarke to hunt Raven down and corner her behind the equipment truck. “Give me my phone!” Clarke growls, lunging at Raven.

Raven laughs and holds it above her head, but she and Clarke are of a height, and Clarke can jump. They grapple a little, and then Clarke’s in possession of her own phone again. She punches Raven in the arm and stalks back toward their trailer as angrily as she can without hurting her bare feet on the gravel. Clarke wipes up the spilled coffee and takes her cup with her to her bunk. She has managed not to look at the last dozen or two messages from Bellamy, but now she’s reading the missed messages before she can stop herself.

_Are you feeling better?_

_Clarke?_

_Gig tonight, if you can make it. Same time, same place._

_I’ll be the one with the war paint_

_If you show up early, you can do the paint_

_Clarke?_

_hello?_

“Clarke?” Raven’s resting her chin on her arms at the edge of Clarke’s bunk. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, tapping the lock on her phone and tossing it aside. She cradles her coffee mug in both hands. (She’s _not_ hiding behind it.)

“You know, for a B-list actress, you’re a really bad liar.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She puts up her hands. “But you should know that the first step is admitting you have a problem.”

Clarke glares. “I’m not an addict. I’m _not_.”

Raven gives Clarke a look. “Sure you’re not. Let me know when you stop mooning over the hot, shirtless guitarist with the war paint.”

Clarke grits her teeth. Raven’s goading her, she knows, but Clarke also knows Raven isn’t wrong. “Damn it, Reyes.” Clarke picks up her phone. _I’m out of town for the weekend_ , she replies to Bellamy. _Work stuff_. She shoves the text message in Raven’s face. “Happy?”

Raven grins. “It’s a start, junkie.”


End file.
